


Telling the Aunt

by NepturnalHarianne



Series: Glee As Folk [2]
Category: Glee, Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Because Brian has a soft side too, Gen, Talking to a dead person, angsty fluff, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NepturnalHarianne/pseuds/NepturnalHarianne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian tells his twin sister that she's an aunt too, now.</p><p> </p><p>(Set in the Glee as Folk universe, after the first two episodes of Queer as Folk. See the series summary for more info)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telling the Aunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enid_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enid_Black/gifts).



> Part of the Glee as Folk 'verse me and Enid_Black created, basically, Brian is Kurt's uncle.

December 2000

Brian walked into the cemetery slowly, his eyes stinging from the long drive, the hangover beating his brain to mush when the sunrays landed on his eyes.  
He squinted a little and stopped in front of a still fresh looking grave, and then he let the flowers – white roses and lilies, her favourites – land messily on top of it.  
«Hi, Beth,» he said, his voice scratchy from being used most of the night, as he drove and sung aloud in his company jeep.  
The ground was damp but he didn’t give a damn, he just folded his leg, sat down, and let his back lean on the cool gravestone, the damn elegant marker, the glorified “X that marks the spot” where, if he were to take a shovel and dig, he would find his sister laying down, dead. Hell, probably decomposing by now.  
Brian let the back of his head lean on the stone too, looking up.  
«Sorry sis, I’m too hung-over to dig you out of there right now. You’ll have to wait for me to join you.» He joked weakly, taking a bottle out of a crinkly brown paper bag and showing it to the smiling photography under the name – Elizabeth Iris Hummel.  
«I brought this because we need to celebrate, as the tradition says. You’re an aunt now.»  
He closed his eyes, let the warm sunrays caress his eyelids and imagined, imagined feeling a slighter, softer hand messing his hair up (and how he hated that, back when they were kids. Now he missed it dearly.) and a bright laugh answering him.  
 _“So what, you brought alcohol?”_ His twin’s bright, ironic voice answered him in his head, and he smiled wirily, a bit sadly, a bit elated.  
«Yeah, well, family tradition and all that – at least I didn’t tell Linds to go have an abortion,» he uncapped the bottle then, smelling the strong scent of whiskey with a grimace.  
«I never understood how you could like this shit,» he mumbled, after swallowing easily a hefty sip of it anyway, then he tipped the bottle off to the side letting a great portion of the liquor splash to the ground.  
He strained his ears again, imagining the crystalline laugh once again and the warm weight of Beth’s head on his shoulder.  
«And now I’ve got a son too,» he let out a low murmur and a snort of incredulous laughter, shaking his head, eyes still closed. «His name is Guss, can you believe it? He is this small little wrinkly pink thing and...»  
He sighed, at loss of words.  
 _“I told you that you’d love it, him, and that you’ll make a wonderful dad, didn’t I? You’re already head over the heels for him.”_  
«Yeah, you were right, rub it in now come on…» he murmured half sulking, just like he used to when they were kids in school together, and Beth always predicted who was going to be the one called up by the teacher.  
He received no answer though, as he knew he would, and he sipped a quarter of the bottle away in one go as his eyes slid open and he was still there, alone with damp legs, a fucking cold back against a useless slab of marble.  
«I wish you could have met him, you nearly did,» he sighed softly, looking up to the clear sky with a frown, blinking more than was really necessary to keep the tears at bay – it was idiotic crying for this, he’d known that his sister was going to die soon for more than a year, he was prepared for it, he fucking organized the ceremony, for god’s sake.  
He let his head fall back with a soft thud against the gravestone, sore and sad and with his head killing him.  
«You know what, Beth? I miss you,» Brian said, then he took one last disgustingly expensive sip of whiskey, before letting the rest of it empty over the grave soil.  
His eyes slid closed again with a sigh, «and I’m really fucking disgustingly happy.» He admitted, at last.


End file.
